The 48 Hour Hookup (Chase Brothers) (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Claire hadn’t felt so blissfully warm in a long time, but it wasn’t just warmth. It was contentment. She’d felt off kilter since she caught her first fiancé in the supply closet, and she hadn’t really gotten back on an even keel since. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but her guard had been up with every guy she’d dated since, including her second fiancé and certainly making no exception of the blogger, despite the way he’d weaseled around that wariness. Not trusting sucked. Not trusting anyone and feeling the need to keep her guard up and her head down, lest anyone recognize her as the Runaway Bride, sucked even more.

But right then, nothing sucked.

Except for the fact that when morning came, heralded by rays of sunlight creeping through the dusty windows, she woke to find she’d ended up tangled with Liam, her head on his shoulder, and everything about
that
should have sucked, starting with the fact that she’d enjoyed it. She wanted to blame the wine, but in conjunction with that huge sandwich, there’s no way she felt it enough to lose touch with her inhibitions. And if she’d really lost touch with
those
, she’d have taken him up on that request to leave a mark.

She could
so
leave a mark on that man.

At least, she could here. In the woods, isolated from real life. She’d been hurt enough in the real world that there, she’d cross to the other side of the street before she’d be caught breathing the same air as Hot HVAC Guy. Not because he didn’t live up to his billing—he
totally
did—but because she couldn’t bear to be thrown back in the spotlight. He probably felt the same way. And it was nice to be a woman, and not
that
woman. Easy enough, on top of a mountain.

But she wasn’t sure he’d be that easy to leave there, at least in the emotional sense. He was such an utterly decent guy. One who hadn’t come close to being as mad as he had a right to be after she’d smashed his truck.

The shadow of her old self could very easily see a fling with a guy like Liam. In the city, she tended to be uptight, fast-paced, and high-strung. It was part of the job, always being ready to smile for the camera and tackle the next story. She’d gotten so used to the station telling her how to feel so as to set the right mood for a given piece that she’d lost sight of what
she
felt. A week in the mountains, with no need to fake anything for anyone, had begun to peel away those layers.

She was starting to recognize who she’d been before, when things were simpler. But she didn’t have much in common with that girl, who’d had two parents and hope in her eyes for the future.

Now, she only knew how to run.

And maybe, for that moment, when to stop.

When Liam pulled her closer, his palm flattening on her belly, she didn’t resist. She didn’t even think he was awake. But he was warm and solid and probably the only man in her life who hadn’t betrayed, mocked, or laughed at her, and as far as she was concerned, that was enough.

They’d agreed to no sex, but this being held thing was something else. Probably something a lot more dangerous. Flings were supposed to be about physical gratification, and here he was, touching on the emotional stuff. Following the rules and breaking them all at once.

She lightly traced his fingers, almost absently, and almost jumped when they captured hers. “You’re killing me,” he said, his voice soft.

“You feel pretty alive to me,” she said, her voice horribly shaky, the suggestiveness of her words unnoticed until after she’d put them out there.

He released her hand and again flattened his, now near her waistband, this time deliberately, this time sliding ever so slightly under her shirt. Two inches, she figured. Two entire inches of contact had her breath quickening and her pulse racing and desire barreling through her like an avalanche. And then, moving higher, making her nipples tighten painfully in some kind of misplaced hope for the sweet, warm relief of his mouth closing on them. Just when she thought she’d drown in all that anticipation, he retreated, fingertips catching the waistband of her yoga pants. The ease at which he could fit that hand beneath the fabric was criminal, seconded only by the fact that he didn’t even try. But the ever-so-slightly tangled grip he had on her was ridiculously erotic. Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought of him easing lower, silently demanding access that she’d be only too glad to give him.

“I bet you’re wicked in bed,” he murmured, startling her for the second time in as many minutes. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t at all like she wasn’t painfully, blissfully aware of how close he was, lying on his side now, the entire length of his body making some kind of contact with the entire length of hers. And he definitely wanted her. There was
no
mistaking that.

“No,” she managed to say. “I’ve never had a reason to be.” God, this casual conversation about sex. She was
so
not wicked. She was so…
missionary
. And he wasn’t awkwardly stumbling over words. Maybe when he was half asleep, he didn’t overthink things or second-guess himself.

“Then someone didn’t treat you right.”

She almost laughed. Plenty of someones hadn’t treated her right, but even before that, not one of them had her back arching against a thick rug on a wooden floor, some kind of silent plea for his touch to inch lower. Good grief, was she really doing that? With a concentrated effort, she managed to draw a shaky breath and force her lower back to the floor. Which had the effect of tipping her pelvis toward his fingers until they touched the top hem of underwear that were terribly close to granny status. Not that anyone could fault her for that. How was she supposed to know the hottest HVAC guy on the entire planet was going to show up and send her into meltdown mode?

“You see how responsive you are?” he asked. Not so sleepy now. More like he was about to devour her. “I can’t imagine what would happen if I actually touched you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re actually touching me,” she managed. Embarrassingly, she almost sputtered it.

“And you’re not asking me to stop,” he said in a lazy, sexy bedroom voice. Which was so wrong. He needed a
fully clothed on an old but freshly vacuumed rug
voice.
That
, she might be able to resist.

“I think stopping was already a rule,” she pointed out. She kind of hated that rule.

He immediately removed his hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He sounded awake now. And apologetic. And not like he was going there again.

She squeezed her eyes closed. Wanting him to finish what he’d started, however inadvertently, was out of line. Almost as wrong as feeling some kind of emotional attachment to a man with whom she shared nothing but a distaste for infamy.

And a bed.

Sort of.

She had to get it out of her head that he was anything she wanted. They’d been thrown together by circumstance and nothing more. He wasn’t the only man in the world with green eyes. That he was the only one she trusted at present said a whole lot more about her flawed judgement than it did him, and it was a waving red flag that she needed to avoid him. The lodge was her safe place, and letting something happen with Liam was guaranteed to destroy that comfort zone.

She was
so
not wanting him.

Right.

She felt like every cell in her body clamored to drag him back in, like she had one fingerhold on a precipice of logic, and the rest of her wanted to be flung.

Flinging sounded fantastic.

Then a phone rang. Moment broken. Body still on the verge of an epic cliché of an explosion, not quite up to speed on the fact that with an apologetic look, Hot HVAC Guy had slid out of their makeshift bed and now stood on the other side of the room, no attention paid whatsoever to his ringing phone. Instead he was staring out the window, both hands on his head like he was stretching for a coffee commercial, only what she could see of his expression wasn’t the blissful look of a man who’d just taken a deep breath of his favored morning brew. Nope. It was more the look of one who was re-evaluating his life’s choices after a narrow brush with death.

Despite her completely imagined, at-best-implied insult, she couldn’t help admiring him. With his arms up, a hint of his abdomen peeked between his shirt and his jeans, which were just low-slung enough to make a sainted woman fall at the feet of the devil himself. His hair, unruly from sleep, begged to have fingers driven through it. Everything about him was so blatantly, casually sexy that it almost seemed unfair. She was probably a total mess, limbs still rubber because he’d grazed her belly with his fingertips, while he stood over there like it was…nothing.

“Need me to leave you alone to deal with that call?” she asked. It was a pointed question, possibly a pathetic one, because the phone had long since stopped ringing. Clearly he’d been grateful for the escape, and she was irritated by the fact that she couldn’t be likewise appreciative, but he’d left her on the verge of an orgasm, and she wasn’t sure how he’d managed to move, let alone walk with the size of that erection pushing his jeans all out of sorts. Shouldn’t his knees be weak or
something
?

“No, nothing to deal with,” he said. “It wasn’t work or family.” Her expression must have held questions, because he added, “I have a different ringtone for them.”

“Oh.” Her fingers still tingled with the thought of tracing that expanse of belly. In what was perhaps the greatest injustice she’d ever personally witnessed, even asleep, the man had had defined abs. He was more than hot. He was inhuman. He had to be if he could ignore a phone call without even seeing who it was.

And judging by the way she was all but panting, she hadn’t put nearly enough distance between them.

He glanced around the room. “The power back on?”

She stood and walked over to a lamp she was pretty sure had been on when the power failed. She hit the switch—twice—and the bulb remained dark. “Not yet. Hopefully it’s a problem down the mountain. Otherwise it might be a while before it’s fixed.”

He turned his attention back to the window. “Beautiful day. There’s a solid foot of fresh powder out there.”

She rubbed her eyes, but even closed, with her fingertips wiping at the lingering image of that man, she couldn’t stop seeing him. “Fresh powder. Is that snowboard lingo?”

“Nah.” He hesitated. “Maybe. Skiing, whatever.”

“There aren’t any cleared downhill trails around the lodge,” she said. “Not unless you want to go down the road, though with those switchbacks and the likelihood of storm debris, I don’t recommend it. But there are a few cross country trails and some skis in the shed. I’m sure they, too, are cross-country, seeing as how that was the only kind of skiing my uncle ever mentioned, and to my knowledge all they ever did here.”

He glanced back outside, then to her. “Do you have any neighbors up here who might have supplies? Dry tinder or matches or anything?”

She thought for a moment. “There’s a cabin not too far away. I don’t know who owns it or whether it’s occupied, but most people leave emergency supplies on site. We might get lucky.” She cringed over the part about getting lucky, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Sounds like it’s worth checking out, but since I don’t know where I’m going, I believe you just talked me into insisting you come with me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he had a point. And as much as she hated the thought of strapping on skis, a warm fire would be great, and his excitement was contagious. It seemed a visceral reaction to the idea of getting out there, and frankly, she could use the chance to cool off. “Only if you’ll teach me,” she finally conceded. And immediately regretted it. She had never gotten near a winter sport that didn’t turn disastrous, and that luck had now officially extended to cutting down Christmas trees. And the victim of said bad luck was going to put her on skis? Not the smartest idea…at least not on her part.

But she definitely needed to cool down, and a foot of fresh snow was a guaranteed way to accomplish that.

Thirty minutes later, they were bundled up and standing outside in front of the shed. It wasn’t until she noticed Liam had walked up to the building and was peering at the back of the lodge, where the service porch was, that she remembered the raccoon. She was about to ask Liam if he saw anything when a gray and black ball of fur jumped, barking and growling, from the thick evergreen shrubbery that provided a windbreak against the porch.

“Shit.” He took what she suspected should have been a quick step in the opposite direction. But well over knee-deep in snow drifts, he managed only to fall over backward. The raccoon retreated, save for a lingering guttural growl and a dent in the snow that looked like a basketball had hit it.

She put so much effort into not laughing out loud that she nearly fell getting to where he lay, unmoving, in the snow.

“Tell me that did not just happen,” he said as she took his hand and helped him upright, a difficult task compounded by the thickness of her gloves. He ended up mostly helping himself, but he held onto her hand for a moment longer than necessary. Several moments, in fact, before she awkwardly withdrew.

“I think it happened,” she managed.

His gaze drifted briefly to her mouth before meeting hers. “I think it will.”

She’d never in her life seen anything greener than those eyes, and they were on her. And she was absolutely
not
cooling off. Not with the not-so-subtle implication of those words, which—however innocent they might sound—were loaded with innuendo. And she wanted to drown in it.

Like
that
was a good idea. That she stood there, in broad daylight, considering anything
happening
told her the air up there must have been thinner than she thought.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fly backward so quickly,” she finally said, offering a much needed change of subject.

“I’m sure it was a riot,” he muttered. But he smiled. “Since our friend has obviously come outside the kitchen now, think we can close that window from the outside?”